


Changes

by MissMaisie



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Depression, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, People Change People, Severus snape father figure, Sirius Black Lives, Slow Burn, poppy pomfrey mother figure
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:28:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24663877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissMaisie/pseuds/MissMaisie
Summary: “What do you know?” He asked through his teeth, suddenly wanting to harm the already injured girl.“I know you could be a halfway decent person if you tried.”He snapped.  What did she know of him?“I hope you die, filthy Mudblood.”Draco Malfoy was in the Hospital Wing when Hermione was injured in the DoM.Sirius Black is alive, saved by Hermione.  Mostly Cannon-Compliant.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Luna Lovegood/Ron Weasley
Comments: 8
Kudos: 30





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic, so please be patient.

“Episkey.”

Draco cringed as his fingers righted themselves, then immediately felt shame as tears came to his eyes because of the pain. _Screw Potter,_ he thought. He looked up to Madam Pomfrey and she quietly _tsked_ before turning to grab a minor pain potion off of the shelf and handed it to him. When he took it from her, she put her hands on his head, smoothing back his hair.

“Draco Malfoy,” She said softly, shaking her head.

He hung his head in shame. Madame Pomfrey had always been kind and loving, a rarity in his life. He didn’t like the fact that he was disappointing her more than what was usual for schoolboys. He was a lot of things, but he was never stupid. He knew everything he did had a greater reason and he _knew_ with every action he took this year with his fellow Slytherins and the Inquisitorial Squad that he was choosing a side. What was he supposed to do? It wasn’t his fault that Madam Pomfrey was on the opposite side—the wrong side—of this war.

_It wasn’t his fault._

But there was still that nagging feeling behind his naval. He downed the pain potion and swung his legs onto the hospital bed. Madam Pomfrey would let him rest. He so desperately needed some sleep.

As he drifted off into the fuzzy sleep of the potion, he saw the hospital doors open and Professor Sinistra lead a whimpering Umbridge through to a bed in the far corner. He closed his eyes, a small smile on his face.

_What in the world did you do Granger?_

OoOoO

He was jolted awake by the panicked voice of his arch-nemesis.

“Help! Help! Oh my God!” Potter nearly screamed.

His voice grated on his ears and he turned to admonish him for disturbing his sleep, but the words died in his mouth when he saw him. Potter was covered in blood. Large amounts stained the front of his shirt and pants. Draco wondered how he was still standing after losing so much blood. As the last of the pain potion left his system, he realized he wasn’t. Potter was cradling a very unconscious Granger in his arms.

Granger was bleeding out.

Madam Pomfrey rushed from her office.

“Set her there Mr. Potter,” She said in a stern voice.

Potter laid her on the bed and Madam Pomfrey erected privacy curtains. Just then, Professor Snape arrived with the youngest Weasley boy slung over his shoulder, who was babbling incoherently, and following him Longbottom was supporting the girl Weasley. Professor Snape dropped Weasley in a hospital bed, none too nicely, and turned to Longbottom, who was helping the girl Weasley into the hospital bed next to him.

“Watch him,” He said in clipped tones directed to Longbottom before slipping behind the erected privacy curtains.

There was a fevered discussion that ended when Professor Snape nearly shouted Potter’s name and the boy in question exited the curtain. He was still covered in blood, Granger’s blood. His eyes turned to the Hospital doors as a bedraggled man with long scraggly black hair walked in with Looney Lovegood.

The man walked up to Potter and hugged him, despite him still being drenched in Granger’s blood.

“How is she?” He asked, putting his hands on Potter’s shoulders.

Potter shook his head, tears clearly evident in his eyes. At this, Draco scoffed. Potter’s eyes snapped to his.

“You!” He shouted.

Then the dark-haired boy was running towards him, eyes blazing. Draco was stunned, he didn’t have time to raise his hands in defense. Potter swung his fists wildly. He felt his nose snap and he was winded when Potter punched him in the guts. The furious boy landed five blows before Longbottom was behind him, holding back his arms.

“She’s going to die!” he screamed.

Then the strange dark-haired man drew Potter into his arms, and he sobbed freely. Lovegood rubbed his back lightly and whispered into his ear.

“You’re right,” he said back, “But I’m not going to.”

Lovegood took his hand and led him to the Weasley girl’s bed, taking a chair. Blood poured down his face and he looked at the man he didn’t know. He fixed his nose for Draco and conjured a handkerchief for him to stem the blood.

“Sorry cousin, but from what I heard, you more than deserved it.”

The man turned to walk towards the group of his enemies when Draco had an epiphany. That man was Sirius Black. A convicted murderer just fixed his broken nose. Before he had time to ponder that thought or say anything, Madam Pomfrey stepped out of the privacy curtain and looked at him. Seeing the blood and swelling that would most likely become a black eye, she turned to Potter.

“I leave you alone for five minutes, five minutes, and you cannot contain yourself.”

She walked over the shelf she had pulled his pain potion from and handed him some bruise paste before walking over to Potter and forcefully sat him in a bed.

Draco put the bruise paste on his face and other parts of his body methodically pondering what had happened. After he was done Madam Pomfrey informed him that he would have to stay the night.

He laid back in his bed, closed his eyes, and tried to ignore everyone else in the room.

OoOoO

Quiet whispering woke him up. He opened his eyes and by the light coming through the windows, he estimated it to be around four or five in the morning.

“Do you need me to go get Madam Pomfrey?” Potter asked.

“No, I’m okay, just a little sore.”

“You almost died, ‘Mione. I don’t know what I would do if that happened.”

“I’m okay, Harry.”

“But it was my fault!”

“Yes, it was!”

Draco was surprised at this admission. He had never seen anyone berate the boy wonder before.

“You didn’t listen to me, and I got hurt. But that doesn’t mean that I am not at fault for following you.”

Potter hung his head, “I understand if you don’t want to hang around me anymore.”

“Oh Harry,” Granger said, grabbing his hand and pulling him to her.

Draco saw her wince in pain as his weight pressed on her wound and he had to stifle a laugh.

“I am always going to be here for you Harry. I love you.”

Potter’s shoulders were shaking. Draco was sure that Potter had cried more in the past twenty-four hours than he himself had cried in his whole life. There was a strange twinge in his chest at the fact that Potter and Granger were together, but he pushed it away.

Granger was shushing Potter and rubbing small circles on his back. _He’s the one that should be comforting her_ , He thought before shaking his head once again. He was irritated at himself. He had always been soft on Granger. Well, not outwardly, but inside his head. He had thought her cute before discovering that she was a Mudblood. He was disgusted with himself when he found out. Liking a Gryffindor was one thing, but a Mudblood was unacceptable.

He knew he was harsher on her than everyone else. It wasn’t fair that a Mudblood was beating him in every subject and was more popular than him. She was lesser, a freak of nature. Why did it bother him that she loved Potter?

“You’re like a brother to me, and I would never ever let you pull something like that by yourself. You were dead set on going, hence I followed.”

“You saved Sirius’ life, Bellatrix she was about to—”

“I know, I know.”

“You don’t,” He whispered harshly, “you saved his life, but if you had died, I don’t”—He choked up again—“Just, if it was a choice between you and him—”

“Don’t,” her voice was angry, “You didn’t have to make that choice. I did what I did out of my own free will and if I had died, I would have wanted you to move forward.”

 _Like if he had any chance without Granger_ , Draco thought.

Her face and voice softened, “Don’t think on it anymore, I have to stay in the Hospital Wing for two more weeks, then I’ll come to Grimmauld when you leave the Dursleys.”

Potter nodded, picked up something shimmering off of the floor, and promptly disappeared. The Hospital doors opened and closed. Draco felt his eyes pop before making eye contact with Granger, who was giving him a knowing look. Without thinking he slipped out of bed and walked over to her.

At her bedside, he saw how frail she was. Peaking up through the front of her dress was an angry red scar. 

“Malfoy.”

Her voice was curt but he saw the fear in her eyes. 

“Who?” He asked, gesturing to her injury.

“Dolohov, but Bellatrix cast a magic-sapping curse that made it worse. I probably can’t cast magic until the start of the next term.”

“So you’re defenseless.”

Another flash of fear, but then she jutted her chin out and clenched her jaw.

“I’m not afraid to punch you again.”

Draco tried, but couldn’t contain his laugh. He saw Granger smile as well, but then her face turned serious.

“Malfoy, there is a war coming. I never liked you, you’re cruel and mean and bigoted, but I don’t want to fight you, or any other Slytherins. We’re all just children and products of our upbringing.”

He froze, fury coursing through him.

“What do you know?” He asked through his teeth, suddenly wanting to harm the already injured girl.

“I know you could be a halfway decent person if you tried.”

He snapped. What did she know of him?

“I hope you die, filthy Mudblood.”

She sucked in her breath, but he didn’t want to see the hurt on her face and he stalked out of the hospital wing.

_You could be a halfway decent person if you tried._


	2. Chapter 2

As Malfoy left the Hospital Wing, letting the Hospital Wing doors slam behind him, Hermione let the tears fall freely down her face. She was frustrated with herself. She knew the muggle adage “Sticks and stones will break my bones but words will never hurt me” and she had taken it to heart during her muggle primary years. The word became less powerful upon her entry into the wizarding world. She thought she would find a world of people like her, people ready and eager to learn, but she found the people in this world much like the people in the muggle world. Nothing had changed. 

It was one of the reasons why she didn’t only disagree with some of the blood purity nonsense, she was downright confused. These people had obviously never interacted with a muggle before in a casual setting. 

As time went on, she built a thick enough skin to generally ignore the comments made about her, they were the same ones from primary school. Even the word “Mudblood” didn’t bother her so much as she and her mother had had their fair share of “Jew Devil” comments on account of their darker curly hair and the shape of their eyes, though they didn’t have a drop of Jewish blood in their bodies and were in fact, atheists.

Bigots and people who made derogatory assumptions existed everywhere.

She never got used to the comments from Malfoy though. She never knew why no matter how many times she repeated “sticks and stones” in her head the words that came out of his mouth had always hit their mark and left a sting. It was because he was an intellectual like her, she rationalized, he was only second to her in the entire school and she always assumed if she found someone with the same study habits, they would be friends.

She rubbed her new scar absentmindedly. The battle had been hell.

Hermione was irritated with Harry. It felt like he never listened to her, but she supposed if she saw a vision of her parents being tortured, she wouldn’t have acted so rationally and she couldn’t count on the boys to rationalize for her. Well, maybe Ron, if he was in a good mood. 

She was very grateful she had spent some of her precious studying time looking up surviving Death Eaters from the previous war, even the so-called “reformed” ones. She knew Antonin Dolohov and Bellatrix Lestrange were two of the most deranged and dangerous Death Eaters from the last war and were recently broken out of Azkaban. She had tried to keep track of them in the battle.

She had seen Bellatrix Lestrange from across the DoM room with the veil in it. She had seen the killing curse in her eyes and on her lips as she aimed her wand at Sirius Black. Sirius was not taking her seriously. His wand was aimed lazily at the crazed woman and he had been taunting her. Hermione’s desperate stunner had hit her as _avada_ left her lips, but the second half remained unspoken.

Sirius’s eyes had met hers. He understood now that the situation was direr than he thought. This was no fun and games.

She had heard someone yell “Mudblood” from behind her, causing her to break eye contact with the dark-haired man as she whipped around. She was too late. Dolohov had snuck behind her and there was a sickly purple light flashing towards her. She didn’t have time to even contemplate throwing up a shield before it ripped through her chest. 

She heard a male voice call her name as she hit the ground, writhing in pain. She felt another curse hit her and saw Neville leaning over her before she blacked out.

A clearing of a throat snapped her out of her reverie. There was significantly more light in the Hospital Wing than there was when Malfoy had left. She turned her head to see Professor Snape setting a crate of potions down on the side of her hospital bed.

“Good morning, sir,” She said, her voice still a little timid.

“Miss Granger, you will take this potion,” He pointed to the top row of potions, “Every morning and this potion,” He pointed to the bottom row, “At precisely noon every day for the next two weeks. The former is a strengthening solution and the latter speeds your body’s natural recovery.”

He quirked his eyebrow upwards as if to say, “Any questions?”

“Why a strengthening solution, sir? Doesn’t that give people unnatural strength? Wouldn’t Pepper Up be more applicable?”

“Insufferable,” He let out a heavy sigh and rubbed his chin, “If it was a normal strengthening solution, that would be the case, however, this one is modified. It releases slowly throughout the day whereas Pepper Up acts more like a caffeine burst. Pepper Up also causes toxic buildup in the body. This strengthening solution is more fitted to long term care.”

“Long term care, sir?”

“Madam Pomfrey didn’t tell you?”

Hermione shook her heads, eyes wide, and rubbed her scar. Professor Snape’s eyes shot down to her hand. He muttered something that sounded like _She always leaves the hard bits for me._

“Maybe because she thinks most people hate you. That way the pain from the bad news isn’t transferred onto her.”

She sucked in a breath.

“Professor, I am sorry, that was out of turn,” She rushed out, squeezing her eyes closed, waiting for his harsh reprimand.

“It was out of turn, but I’ll let it slide this time because no matter how coherent you sound or feel right now, you are still doped up on pain potions. That’s why your scar merely burns or itches.”

“Oh.”

The professor sighed heavily, unbuttoning his sleeve. He answered her questioning eyes.

“Dolohov created that curse, he had to practice somewhere.”

She nodded in understanding and looked at his arm. There was a long, raised rope of white scar tissue that wrapped from the inside of his wrist to the outside of his elbow.

“It will not get much better than this,” he said, his voice solemn.

There were tears in her eyes, but she nodded her understanding. He seemed to get agitated with her, his face twisting into a sneer.

“I know your ego is delicate, but try to hold it together, girl. Would you rather have that scar or be dead?”

The way he said ‘dead’ made her start a little.

“Yes, _Miss Granger_ ,” He spat her name out, “You would be dead if Potter had been a little slower or if I had not been on hand. Now, answer me!” He practically shouted at her.

“The scar, sir, I would prefer the scar.”

He nodded at her.

“Now back to the matter at hand. What Madam Pomfrey likely hasn’t told you is that Bellatrix Lestrange cast a Magic-Draining Curse on you. It depleted your magical core. It is a very dark spell that requires intent rivaling one of the unforgivables.

“Usually a person can exhaust their core and will sleep it off while it recharges and will generally be hungrier for a couple of days, but depletion requires more energy over months to restore your magic. You will be exhausted daily and in order for you to be able to make it through your days, you will need the strengthening solution. You do want to have a productive summer, yes?”

“Yes, sir,” she answered.

“You will have to take it once in the morning for the rest of the summer, and if you are unlucky, for the beginning of next term. It is a fairly simple variation of the regular solution and it requires no magic, so it will not alert the trace. Once learned I expect you to not blow up your residence.”

Without telling her when he was to start instructing her, he turned on his heel and strode out of the Infirmary. She rubbed her scar again; it was starting to hurt instead of itch. Madam Pomfery bustles out of her office and started giving her instruction (No leaving feast for her!) and tending to her new scar.

It was several hours later when Hermione realized that she had had a halfway civil conversation with the surly potions master.

OoOoO

Hermione felt guilty for enjoying the castle more when it was empty. She was able to roam the hallways freely and the library was perpetually unlocked and blessedly devoid of inhabitants.

That’s where she was now. She had just finished lunch in the infirmary, where she would be staying for yet another week, and she was scanning the shelves. On one of the tables sat her wireless. Her parents had bought it for her in Diagon Ally because it played muggle cassettes instead of just horrible wizarding music.

She was humming along to the Offspring’s “Kill the President” that was playing rather loudly when she felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned, almost bumping into familiar black robes. After realizing who it was, she dove for her wireless, quickly clicking the ‘off’ button.

“The Offspring, Miss Granger?”

“Yes, sir,” Confusion and surprise laced her response.

“Come with me,” He directed before walking away.

Hermione huffed, quickly gathered her things, and rushed after him.

“I am surprised you listen to such music.”

“Well, sir,” She started, unsure of what she should say to the intimidating and easily irritable man, “I like punk rock. I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I can feel it, you know?”

When there was no response she continued.

“The war, sir. And I’ve always liked punk rock, rebelling against ‘the man’, because isn’t that what we’re doing, sir, fighting an unjust point of view?”

This time he grunted to her answer, so she continued, wondering how long he would let her keep talking.

“And sometimes it helps me get my anger and my energy out, the muggle therapist my parents made me go to called it a ‘healthy coping mechanism’ and that kind of took some of the fun out of it, made it seem like I had permission to listen to it, but it’s still fun, you know?”

He looked at her pointedly.

“Sir,” she lamely added on.

They both remained quiet on their trip down to the dungeon. They paused at the door right before the classroom door. Professor Snape waved his wand to unlock the door and put his had on the door handle before pausing and turning towards her slightly.

“I am partial to The Clash,” He uttered, barely audible.

He then flung the door open and strode through, leaving Hermione to enter the room in his wake. The room was nearly identical to the classroom, except everything seemed just a little more well taken care of. 

“The advanced potions classroom,” She concluded, aloud.

There was one cauldron at the front of the classroom with ingredients laid out on the desk. The instructions were already on the board. It seemed as though the potion required two stages with three days of maturation in between. She walked to the desk she supposed was for her and started working on the potion.

The professor was at the front, grading end of year exams. After about five minutes of silence, Hermione noticed movement at the front of the classroom and she looked up to see Professor Snape flick his wand towards the far end of the wall and music started playing, punk rock.

She smiled to herself but continued as if nothing had happened.

OoOoO

An hour later Hermione was finishing up the first stage of the potion when she heard the professor hiss from the front of the room. He was clutching his left arm.

“Fuck,” he said to himself, then turned his eyes on her, “Set the potion for maturation then leave immediately. Tell no one of this.”

He rushed out of the room and Hermione set to do what she was told, a thousand questions on her lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I am starting to get a handle on the writing, please be patient with any stilted awkwardness. I know Hermione is probably more apt to be into classical, but I think she has some punk rock in her, what with her fighting any injustice she finds. I am trying really hard not to make her a Mary Jane, but this is my first time writing so as I said before, please bear with me.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a little Draco in this one, the next chapter is going to encompass the summertime, and then it's back to Hogwarts! There will actually be DM/HG interactions in Chapter 5. Thank you for your patience.

Hermione paced the length of the Infirmary fiddling with the hem of her shirt. She was worried about her professor. She wasn’t a stupid person. She could get lost in the details and have the larger picture remain elusive, but she knew what it meant when the professor’s left arm hurt. He was a Death Eater.

It didn’t make any sense. She knew he was a Death Eater in his youth, it was public knowledge and a point that was often debated within the order even though he had reformed and turned spy near the end of the war. Alastor Moody and Sirius were among the dissenters, wanting his reason for turning to be brought to light.

Dumbledore trusted him, and that was good enough for her then, and it is good enough for her now. Something in her brain clicked and she smacked herself on the forehead.

“He was a spy then, and he is still a spy,” She stated, pausing her pacing.

“You are correct, Miss Granger.”

Hermione started and turned around.

“Professor Dumbledore, I didn’t know you were in here, in the castle even,” Hermione said.

“Why don’t you sit down, dear,” The grandfatherly man gestured to her hospital bed.

She obediently walked to her bed and hopped up, placing her hands on either side of her thighs, leaning forward as if to signify her intent to listen.

“I have to impress upon you the importance of the information you now hold.”

“Of course, sir, I won’t tell a soul,” She hoped she looked solemn enough, reflecting the severity of the situation.

“Indeed, not even Misters Potter and Weasley?”

“No, if you think it’s best I not tell them, I won’t.”

“Very good, Miss Granger,” His eyes twinkled behind his half-moon frames.

“Is that all, sir?”

He glided over to the chair beside her bed and sat down.

“You did very well at the battle in the Department of Mysteries.”

“Thank you, sir,” She knew she was practically glowing with the praise.

“Yes, I do believe that Sirius Black owes you his life, not to mention his freedom.”

“Sirius Black is going free?” Her voice raised, excited.

“He is getting a fair trial. There were several eyewitnesses that claimed Peter Pettigrew was at the battle, not to mention the minister will pull a few strings after the Umbridge disaster.”

They shared a smile, but for different reasons.

“It’s what’s best for Harry,” she stated firmly.

“Indeed, I believe that is the case. Speaking of the battle, I do believe you picked up something that would help our dear spy. Could you deliver it to him for me?”

Hermione had the good sense to blush at the comment. _How did he know?_

The old man chuckled to himself, shook his head, and stood up. 

“Naturally, it is your choice. I hope you have the very best summer.”

He started to walk out. As he reached the doors, Hermione jumped off of her bed and took a few steps towards him.

“Sir, wait!”

He turned around, his eyebrows raised expectantly.

“How important is Professor Snape, really?”

“More important than anyone knows, almost as important as Harry, yourself, and Ronald.”

“Alright, thank you, sir.”

And he walked out, leaving her with her thoughts.

OoOoO

Three days later, she was bottling up her completed strengthening solution. Professor Snape had scrutinized her cauldron and declared it ‘adequate’ and with the instructions written down and enough ingredients, until she arrived at Grimmauld Place, she was almost ready to leave. 

What stopped her was the tightness of the posture of her professor, and the pinched looks on his face, and the obvious bags under his eyes from sleepless nights. His glamour charm had worn off an hour ago, and she was certain he didn’t even realize it.

She brought her bag up to the table, reaching into it to grab the golden medaling, fingering it. Time magic was very addictive, especially for a person such as her. It gave her a sense of control. She had abused it during her third year, and it was still a point of shame for her. She knew she would use it for the same purposes, extra classes and study time she didn’t need. She would use it to hang out with all of her friends.

But she would be able to fit everything in. She wouldn’t have to budget her time. She would always be well-rested and de-stressed. She pushed the medallion deeper into her bag and made to shoulder it when she noticed an odd noise from the front of the classroom.

Professor Snape had fallen asleep. He was slumped over his desk, red ink from his quill smearing his face and staining the paper below. Asleep his brow was unfurled, and he looked almost peaceful. So unlike the cruel man that lorded over the classroom. Her heart went out to him and she plunged her hand into the bag and palmed the Time Turner.

“Professor Snape,” She annunciated clearly.

He jerked up, a surprised look on his face. He felt the ink stain on the side of his face and he waved it away, silently and wandlessly.

“ _What_ , Miss Granger.”

Even when _He_ had fallen asleep, he still made it feel like her fault for waking her up. She took a deep breath.

“This is for you,” She set the Time Turner gently on his desk, right on top of the ruined essay.

He snatched it up and stared at it, scrutinizing it for flaws.

“Where did you get this?” He snapped.

“I stole it.”

“You _stole_ it?”

She nodded, “At the Department of Mysteries we went into the time room when we were running away from the hall of prophecy. A Death Eater followed us in. We didn’t want him to be able to go back and change things, so I shoved one into my jumper pocket and Ron helped me destroy the rest. The logbook was even destroyed, so I doubt they even know one survived or was missing.”

“Why give it to me?” He asked, emotion leaking into his voice though his face remained stoic.

“I know about your second job an—”

“What? Who told you!” He shouted.

She held her hands up in an ‘I surrender’ motion and he seemed to calm down a bit.

“I sussed it out.”

“Sussed?”

“I’ve been reading old mystery novels,” she felt a slight blush in her cheeks.

“Ah. I suppose you want something in return?”

“I do, actually.”

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Name your price Miss Granger.”

“Promise you’ll try to take care of yourself,”

His mask almost slipped completely off as bewilderment flashed across his face.

“You want a promise,” He stated, as if it was the most ridiculous thing in the whole wide world, “For the last known existing Time Turner. Do you have any idea how much this is worth? You could bankrupt the Malfoy family, and they would give you all of their money happily to get their hands on this.”

She scoffed, “I’m not giving this to the Malfoy family, I’m giving it to you. And I want my promise.”

“Why do you care?”

“You’re a spy, and spies who don’t take care of themselves get killed.”

His face turned stony and he slipped the medallion over his head and it disappeared under his shirt in a flash.

“I always forget my particular _usefulness._ Leave, Miss Granger.”

So that’s what was wrong.

“I wasn’t finished.”

His face was a fury, and she questioned her intelligence for contradicting the man. He wouldn’t get her automatic obedience, not this time. She pressed on.

“I have always respected you. You are intelligent and you challenge your class, and you like punk rock. And honestly, you remind me a little of my Da, my father. He’s all severe and sharp on the outside but inside he is the kindest man and he would protect me and my Ma to the ends of the earth!”

She had almost shouted at the end and blushed at her boldness. She had never voiced this before, but she thought it every time she had interacted with the man and he didn’t insult her. 

He stalked around his desk and came towards her until they were almost face to face.

“You will not compare me to some filthy muggle.”

She brought her hand back and slapped him in the face, then pointed her finger directly at his nose.

“You will not talk about my parents that way. If you’ve got true blood prejudice then I will take it back.”

She reached under the collar of his robes, _Too bold,_ she thought to herself, to grasp the chain when his hand came up to hers.

“Wait,” He said, relenting and stepping backward.

“I am not sorry for slapping you,” She said straight away.

To her surprise, he let out a short bark that could have been a laugh.

“I _am_ sorry for calling your parents filthy muggles. It’s a long story a child shouldn’t know, and I am already too familiar with you already.”

“Familiar? I was pretty sure you hated me before I was injured.”

“I have to hate muggleborns, my _second job_ requires it. In reality, I hate teaching. In any case, you grew up in the north, I’m guessing?”

She nodded, “Until I was six.”

“I grew up in Cokeworth, muggle father and witch mother. After the mill shut down my father turned to drink. And now you know why I don’t like being compared to muggles or fathers. And you know more than most people.”

“I won’t tell anyone, sir.”

“I would have to kill you if you did. Can I still keep it?”

“If I get my promise.”

“I promise to try to take care of myself.”

Hermione tried not to look too pleased with herself but knew she failed.

“A word of advice, Miss Granger?”

She had been shouldering her bag and expected a reprimand from her professor, about acting too familiar when it wasn’t her damn fault that she _cared._

“Yes, Professor?”

“Try to enjoy your summer with your parents, it might be your last.”

She nodded and tried to rush out of the room. This was getting too personal with the surly, hated, feared potions professor, even for her.

As she reached the doorway, he called her name again. She sighed while rolling her eyes and turned around.

“Stealing a Time Turner,” There was a small, but very genuine smile on his face, “Very punk rock move.”

OoOoO

Draco paced the length of his room, grasping his left forearm. It hurt constantly and had been hurting for the last week. Granger's words rang in his ears, a constant in his personal hell.

_You could be a halfway decent person if you tried._

He punched his wall. He wanted to shove his Dark Mark under her nose, to rub her face in the fact that he was not, in fact, a good person. 

It was only after he got this brand, that he learned his orders, that he learned he was only a sacrifice, to show his father where making mistakes got you, that he knew he wanted to be a good person. He wanted to be on Granger’s side with genuine friends that weren’t trying to stab him in the back all the time. To be fighting for an ideal instead of fighting to keep him and his family safe.

He had chosen his side, and he couldn’t back out now, he knew that. He was branded for life.


End file.
